Prism
A Transformers Prime Fanfic
Chapter 3
"But otherwise he's fine?" Lieutenant General Fowler tilted his head and stared at the odd sight before him.
Megatron; Lord Protector of Cybertron, Supreme Commander of the Allied Defense Forces, Warrior older than recorded history, was sitting cross legged in the headquarters medical bay tenderly crouched over the prone form that lay in his servos. His ruby red optics never flickered from his charge and a low humming filled the room as he spoke softly in Cybertronian.
"As far as I can tell he is a perfectly healthy human," the red and white mech responded warily.
Megatron had demanded that Ratchet immediately take the shuttle to earth. Though Preceptor was a genius it was the medic who had the greater understanding of human anatomy. In the time it had taken him to arrive from the Nemesis three human physicians had declared the youth fit, simply showing signs of exhaustion. But the Warlord had not begun to relax until Ratchet had gruffly informed him that there was nothing wrong with his sparkling that a good nap wouldn't cure.
"Except that he's somehow lost all that muscle we spent this past year building," Fowler sighed again shaking his head in confusion.
"This makes no sense," the medic growled. "This kind of error should be impossible. Every simulation we ran showed the process either working or not. A half-way failure like this is."
"Silence!" the harsh but eager voice drew the attention of the other two. "He awakes."
Ratchet came over and ran a critical optic over the slowly stirring form. They had not even taken the time yet to remove the experimental flight suit. The human gave a low groan and his blue grey eyes flickered open but remained unfocused.
"Jackson can you hear me?" the medic asked.
"Ratchet?" the youth shook his head and sat up shakily.
"Yes it is I," the medic stated happily, relief washing through him.
"What happened?" Jack asked reaching up to rub his eyes.
"That accursed machine of the scientists very nearly fried you to a crisp," Megatron growled, servos clenching in ill suppressed rage. "How are you feeling Jackson?"
He felt the raven haired human stiffen suddenly in his servos and those optics so dear to him snapped to the mech's battered faceplates focusing for the first time since he awoke. For a few brief seconds there was no expression on the youth's face, the he took a shaky breath.
"Megatron?" the voice was strange the warrior noted with mounting concern, strained and full of, fear?
That made no sense. The boy had known from the first that he was always safe in his father's presence. He had nothing to fear.
"Megatron!"
There was no doubt as the human suddenly rolled to the side and attempted to leap from the servos that held him. His voice was vibrating with terror and loathing. The warrior could feel his heart racing where his skin touched mesh and the youth was sending out a cloud of stress hormones.
"My son," the Warlord began in a gentle voice as he tried to contain the struggling human without harming him, "calm yourself. I am here."
But the words only seemed to drive the human into a deeper panic. The mech realized that if he clutched the youth any tighter he would cause him damage and relaxed his servos. Taking the small opening Jack leapt to the floor. He picked himself up and scrambled for the cover of a med berth. His guardian took the seconds it required the human to move the distance to study him. The usually graceful movements were gone, replaced by scrabbling hands and stumbling feet. Whatever had affected the youth was still clearly messing with his mind, the ancient Cybertronian decided.
The calm logical thought process was helping to keep his processor steady, but Megatron's spark was clenching painfully. His beloved Jackson had looked straight at him and rejected him. There had to be a logical reason; some chemical imbalance, perhaps the energy of the portal had deranged him somehow, but a cold certainty was forming in the mech. Jackson was afraid of him. He signaled for the medic and the human general to stand down. This was something he had to handle alone.
Rising far more gracefully than his massive frame should have allowed the Cybertronian followed after the panicked form that had fled the med bay. It was a bit difficult to follow the human through the base that had been darkened for the night, but the motion sensor lights gave the mech an edge. A frown creased his faceplates. Triggering the florescent lighting was a mistake his sparkling should not have made. Cleary the mishap was affecting him deeply. Megatron was unsure whether he should find that comforting as it meant Jackson was not in his right mind or disturbing that the young warrior was so very off his game.
"Jackson Darby," he called out experimentally, "come to me sparkling. I will not harm you."
"The pit you won't!" the human snarled out quietly.
Megatron frowned, Jackson had probably not meant for him to hear that. It was incredibly rare for the taciturn youth to curse. The word only added another shard of worry to the Cybertronians state. But far worse in his processor was the implications of the statement itself. The youth's mind was clearing and he sounded as if he still considered the Cybertronian a threat. The mech pressed forward, rounding the corner without paying much attention to where they were. Jackson was crouched down on the other side of a darkened room his hands working feverishly out of sight behind a low bench.
"Jackson," the mech tried again. "You are confused and frightened. Come back to the medical bay and Ratchet will examine you."
"Since when does Ratchet take orders from you?"
The sheer absurdity of the question distracted Megatron for a moment.
"Ratchet has been the head of Cybertronian medical facilities since before the Fall of Cybertron," he answered in confusion.
The human gave a snarl and pulled his hands into sight. With a soft curse at his carelessness the mech realized what room they were in; Wheelkjack's personal laboratory. The half crazed inventor had been working on crafting weapons that their human allies could use against the coming enemy. His most successful endeavor to date was the small projectile weapon Jackson was pointing straight at his spark chamber.
"My sparkling," Megatron spoke low and urgently.
It was not the weapon that disturbed him; it was the panicked desperation he saw in the eye of the being he treasured above all in this universe.
"I am not your sparkling!" the human growled fiercely.
The massive mech flinched at the venom in the youth's voice. It felt as if the cruel words were truly meant. He moved forward and extended a hand towards Jackson.
"Stay back!"
With a roar of noise and a wash of gas that blew the raven hair back, in the split second before the rounds began to impact it occurred to the mech that the hair was too long, the weapon belched fire and pain blossomed over the Warlord's chest plates. The firing stopped and Jack was struggling to reload the weapon when a larger dark form leapt from the shadows and pinned the youth to the floor with a yell.
"No! Fowler, do not restrain him. I will speak to him!" Megatron ordered, but a touch weakly.
The older human did not respond, it was taking all his attention to restrain the struggling Jack.
"You tried talking to him old friend," a rough voice spoke at the warrior's side. "Let us put him under for now until I can find some explanation for his behavior."
The red and white medic held up one servo, the tip of which had been transformed into a syringe filled with what Megatron could only suppose was anesthetic. His spark rebelled at the idea but the frantic cries that were coming from his son as the general wrestled to keep him on the floor decided him and he stepped aside to let Ratchet by. Jackson went limp as he recognized the healer and his blue grey eyes widened in fear and betrayal as Fowler twisted his head to the side to give the medic access to his neck. The silvery liquid disappeared into the human and his body went limp.
The three remaining sentients relaxed for a moment before Ratchet spun on his peds and descended on the stunned Warlord. Megatron saw the intention in his glittering blue optics and attempted to wave him off.
"I am fine Medic."
"Oh really," the smaller mech snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So you're not really dripping energon and bio-acid all over the lab?"
The Supreme Commander of the Allied Defense Force, blinked at him dully then glanced down at this chassis. The weapon had never been developed to work on Cybertronians but their intended target had hides nearly as thick. The projectile force alone had penetrated several weak points on his armor, the bio-acid had of course not affected him at all, but the sickly orange liquid mixed with the energon to create a rather disturbing visual.
"Don't worry Megs," the human's use of the diminutive jerked the mech's attention back to Fowler. "I'll take the kid back to the med bay and we'll get this all sorted out."
"I will take him," the mech growled, shaking free of Ratchet.
"Megatron!" Fowler's voice assumed the harsh piercing tone he was infamous for. "Even if Ratchet certified you fit to do it what if he wakes up again? You know better than I do how randomly drugs affect Jack. Do you want to terrify him again?"
"He, has a point old friend," Ratchet insisted reattaching his grip on the larger mech. "The best thing for Jack right now is for Fowler to take him to the medical ward."
The Warlord nodded reluctantly and stepped back from the door. The older human tenderly swept the younger up in his arms and strode purposely from the dim room.
"He feared me Ratchet," Megatron muttered in confusion. "Me!"
"It is inexplicable," the medic muttered, his attention more on the damage to his leader now that he knew the youth was in good hands, "But we will figure this out, have no doubt of that."